A Hitchhiker's Guide To Dimensions
by ElectroKate
Summary: Getting dropped into another dimension isn't as glamorous as some might think, and author Macy Grey has experience to back that up. During her quest to get back home, there are more downs than ups. Is she just an expendable side character? Or will the experience force her to become like the heroes in her books? Starts during The French Mistake. Multi-chap, eventual Dean/OC.
1. P1 - CHI: 'Curiosity'

**Well howdy there! ElectroKate here, welcome to my latest story. This first chapter is acting as an introduction to our main protagonist - Macy Grey - so not much of our favorite boys in this chapter just yet. Set during The French Mistake, and continuing the (slightly tweaked) canon story line from there. There's a longer A/N at the end to explain a few things so read on and I'll talk to you at the end!**

* * *

><p><span>A Hitchhiker's Guide to Dimensions<span>

* * *

><p><span>PART 1 - Chapter I: 'Curiosity'<span>

If my life were an after school special, the moral of the story would be 'curiosity killed the cat', or some other inane, ancient saying that was an attempt at setting kids on the straight and narrow.

If you asked all the other kids in the graduating class of 2004 about me, Macy Grey, they'd probably give you a blank look, mumble 'who?' and return to the high-powered jobs they'd walked into upon leaving university. I, of course, took the road less traveled so to speak, and instead threw my medical degree in the trash in favor of a notepad, coffee and a small apartment in downtown Vancouver. Was I indulging my self-righteous side in an adult equivalent of sticking my tongue out at the other med students while yelling 'see? I don't need your stupid pretentious degree! I have creativity and talent!'? Most definitely. Smart move? Decidedly not. You see, if I hadn't have done that, I wouldn't find myself in the terrible situation that altered my life completely. If I had stayed in America and got a high-end job at some ridiculously expensive hospital, I wouldn't have been pushed towards a life of danger and death. If I had stayed, I wouldn't have been sitting in this alleyway, hugging myself as I shook with nerves and doubt.

The garbage beside me wafted an unpleasant stench to my nose, the hard brick behind me most likely scratching my beautiful dress, and the small breeze that flowed through the alley biting into my exposed skin. None of this really registered on an emotional level; I was drained and numb. What had I gotten myself into? I had come out there to think, to breathe and perhaps gain a little perspective over the events of the past few hours. But as I sat there, trying to reign in my thoughts, two voices interrupted me.

"You should thank me for what I'm about to do," a menacing voice suggested further down the alley, towards the lip. The large garbage bin beside me didn't allow me to see what was going on from my position.

"Why? What are you about to do?" A high voice asked, fear clearly evident as it shook. Another shuffling sound, the man whimpered in response.

I don't know what possessed me to do it, I should have turned tail and run. Should have called the cops and let them know something shady was going down. But instead, my curiosity got the better of me. I'd always been small and inconspicuous, not many people tended to notice me and I liked it that way. So when I inched my head out from behind the garbage bin, I thought I'd sneak in a quick peek and get on with the whole scramming plan. I had never been more wrong. A dark-haired man in a black coat held another, smaller man by the throat. He spoke something too quiet for my ears, as he slid the knife into the smaller man.

I must have squawked in shock, or shifted something, because as I held my hand to my mouth in abject horror, the killer's eyes slid towards mine, their dark depths calculating. I knew I was done for.

"You," he shouted at me, his eyes sparking with… recognition? Was I seeing that right?

But we're getting ahead of ourselves – let's go back and see what led me to my sticky predicament, shall we?

* * *

><p>24 Hours earlier:<p>

* * *

><p><em>She tore down the grand staircase, her long evening gown whipping behind her as she raced through the front doors and to the driveway. As she pursued her love, every breath of wind against her cheek whispered his name and spurred her on her quest; nothing would come between them now. <em>

'_Oliver!' She cried, waving her hand at the man astride his horse in the field below. _

_He looked up at her, his expression revealing his feelings without him even having to say them. He galloped towards her, the gallant steed below him leaping effortlessly over the fence. As he reached her, he swung her up upon his horse with one strong, sturdy arm and placed her hands upon his waist. _

'_Rachel, my dear, I love you more than there are drops of water in the ocean-"_

Wait, wait, wait, scratch that, it didn't seem quite right. My pen drew an angry line across the last words on the page and I returned to sucking on the end of it. Oliver was the 'heart on your sleeve' kind of guy, he needed to say something sweet and meaningful to adequately express his heartfelt love for Rachel. He wouldn't use a simile as overused as the ocean… He'd use something much more powerful. My pen returned to the page once more.

'_Rachel, my dear, I love you more than there are stars in the sky-'_

_BZZZZZ_. My head snapped upwards and my legs jerked, sending my notepad to the floor and my cup of coffee pouring scalding liquid down my legs and onto the page, no doubt staining the paper. Who the hell would be at my apartment at this hour?

Sopping the mess on my pajama pants with a cloth, I looked through the peephole, sighing in relief as I saw the familiar face behind the door.

"You know, calling is usually considered proper etiquette," I pointed out, pulling the door open to let my visitor in.

"Babe, I thought we were past that stage in our relationship," Greg whined as he swooped down to plant a kiss on my lips, chaste and soft.

"Guess again," I narrowed my eyes at him and his veiled attempt at smoothing things over with a kiss. "You ruined my pajamas," I huffed, closing the door firmly behind him.

Greg frowned, "Sorry about that, I didn't mean to," he wandered towards me and gave me a hug. I hugged him back, glad for the comfort. I hadn't seen him in a few days now and I'd missed him more than I thought I would.

"Let's go to bed," I suggested when we pulled back, smiling up at him. "I missed you."

Greg nodded and stroked my cheek. "I love you," he said simply.

My breath caught in my throat and my head swam with nerves and satisfaction that someone could feel that way about me. It didn't matter how often he said it, it still caught me by surprise. "I love you too," I replied automatically, reaching up to plant a kiss on his mouth.

The next morning, I rolled over in bed to find a vase filled with roses sitting on the bedside table, a note sitting next to it with flowery script. It read:

'_I had a wonderful night, but had to go to work early this morning love. See you tonight. xxx'_

I allowed myself a brief girly sigh and clutched the note to my chest; he really was the hero to my story, so attentive and gentle, caring for my every need. It was a wonder he wanted me at all, a lazy writer with one measly book to her name. I opened up my bedside table and folded the note, placing it with the rest of my sentimental items I'd kept over the years. Most of them were presents or memories about my mum, though one stood out: an ornate candle complete with overly fancy candlestick-holder that I'd found with my things after moving here to Vancouver. It was gold, carved into the shape of a dragon whose mouth held the white candle. The wick was black, obviously used, but it was so beautiful I just couldn't throw it away. Greg hated it so I'd had to take it off the mantel I'd put it on and kept it in the drawer for safe keeping.

After a quick shower and a short fight with my tangle of long red curls (which I lost, again), I sat myself back on the sofa in my yoga pants and shirt, notepad and pen at the ready.

"Speak to me, Oliver," I murmured, flipping through the last few pages I'd written for inspiration. It was a frustrating past time, and one that quickly went from difficult to boring if the words weren't flowing quite right. Over the past few days the words had been suspiciously absent from my mind and I was running low on motivation to even write the damn book. My air-head publisher was asking for a sequel to be finished in two months. The deadline was fast approaching and I'd only written a third of the damn thing, without editing and without a clear direction to head from there.

"Oh God," I muttered, rubbing my temples. The headache was starting again. Maybe it was the pressure from my publisher, or maybe it was my lack of sunlight, but the migraines were getting worse. I popped a few pills, swallowing them with some water. Hopefully by tonight, I'd have a clear head; Greg had booked a table at the fancy restaurant down the road to celebrate our one year anniversary and I wanted to enjoy it as much as possible.

The day passed slowly and painfully, my head aching worse and worse with each passing minute. It was a relief when my alarm went off on my phone – time to get ready for my date. The warm, soapy suds of the bath and the smooth silk of my off the shoulder, slightly too short, not appropriate for meeting the parents, blue dress gave me some comfort. It was just Greg and I tonight, the first night he'd had off in a month, and I was going to be charming, sexy and graceful. Looking into my bathroom mirror, my pale, drawn face stared back at me. I pinched my cheeks to regain some color and applied some light lip stick and mascara. I looked like a painted on corpse. I pulled my hair closer around my face to hide.

"That'll do donkey," I grumbled, readjusting my bra. I loved to dress up; the clothes, the hair, the shoes, it all made me feel so much more confident. But my migraine and general well-being was definitely showing through.

Greg picked me up from my apartment, surprising me with a white limousine out front and a bouquet of flowers, larger than the ones he'd left me this morning. He was often indulging my romantic fantasies and spent way too much money on me than he should, but every time I complained all he would say was that I was worth it, and that his job as a cosmetic dentist more than paid for it. How did I get so lucky again?

It was a guilty pleasure that I relished, spending time with Greg. He was far too upper class for me, and there was no way his parents would have considered him dating me if it weren't for my university degree and published novel. Of course, Greg always said that he loved me because I was so different and that he needed someone to spoil.

And spoil me he did. The restaurant was very crowded, it was a Friday night after all. And as we wound our way through the diners, I couldn't help but feel nervous and excited as we were led to the rooftop terrace, one of the few couples who were lucky enough to dine in the exclusive area.

"This is far too much," I finally said as the waiter helped me into my chair. "You shouldn't spend so much on me!"

Greg laughed, his head tilting backwards as he grabbed my hand, stroking my palm. His longish blonde hair was parted to the side, allowing an uninhibited view of his smooth, handsome face. His light brown eyes regarded me with sparkling joy. "You are worth every penny. You deserve it."

I knew he was in love with me, but I found it hard to take his words to heart. I didn't feel as though this kind of treatment was warranted for someone like me. Glancing around at the other diners, I could see the model perfection of the women and their dazzling handsome partners, sipping delicately from their wine and embracing the decadent culture they lived in. But I shook the unpleasant feeling off and let Greg sweep me off my feet.

Dinner went smoothly, as it always did while I was with Greg. He was easy to talk to, and the conversation flowed without problem. We talked about trivial things; the weather, his work, my novel (which I skated over). Dessert was served, a rich chocolate mousse with whipped cream piled high in the center. There was one for the two of us to share.

"You go first," Greg prompted, handing me a fork. He smiled at my eagerness as I dug in, taking a great helping of mousse and shoving it in my mouth.

"This is delicious," I mumbled around my food, smiling cheekily at him and his judging look. I knew what I must look like, chocolate dripping from my mouth and cheeks puffed out. But the wine had loosened me up and I simply giggled, and he relaxed slightly, his eyes rolling good-naturedly at my antics.

I dove in for another forkful of food, but something stopped me. "I think there's something in there. We should get the waiter," I glared unhappily at the shining object that was interrupting my session with the mousse and waved the waiter over.

"No-" Greg started, his hand reaching into the dessert. He pulled out the object, covered entirely in chocolate, and wiped it with his napkin.

I gave him a confused look before turning to beckon the waiter over once more. "It's okay, I'm sure they'll give us another one."

When I turned back around, Greg had left the table. My momentary confusion dissolved as I saw his position beside my seat, down on one knee and holding out the object towards me with a blissful look upon his face; "Macy," he started, "I love you more than there are drops of water in the ocean, more than the stars in the sky," at that his lip twitched and I just _knew_ he'd purposefully snatched that from my writing, "Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

My heart had long since abandoned me and I was left frozen on my seat, hands gripping my arms tightly. I admit, I had suspected that this was where the night was heading, but I hadn't thought he'd have done this here, right now, in public, in my fucking _dessert_. As I sat there gazing into the giant rock of a diamond before me, our future life together flashed before my eyes; I'd be a stay at home writer/mother to our beautiful 2.5 kids and he'd be the breadwinner dad who would traipse home after a long day's work, crack open a beer and enjoy dinner with his family. I could see it all, our kids going off to college, leaving us to be empty nesters for a while before he retires. Watching our kids grow old and get married themselves. Sitting on a porch, swaying in a rocking chair as an old lady and helping Greg get through the morning crossword puzzle.

But even imagining our future, I couldn't prevent my heart from sinking with dread. Did I want that? More importantly: did I want that with _Greg_? I'd always imagined I would marry someone with a bit more… substance.

But the longer I thought about it, without him, I wouldn't have survived in this city on my meager salary, living alone in my crappy apartment. He spoiled me rotten and treated me like a princess, fulfilling every girl's princely romantic fantasy. So I did what any smart 27-year-old woman would do;

"Yes," I breathed, watching the smile break out on his face as he slipped the ring on my finger and embraced me. I felt paralyzed as I stood there, clinging to the shirt on his back and listening to the other diners talk about us and clap, having seen the entire show. I turned cold, not quite expecting the feeling of panic that accompanied having made a verbal contract of commitment to Greg. I loved him, of course, but looking down at the ring on my finger, I wondered if I was quite ready for what I'd just stepped into.

"I have to um... I have to go to the bathroom, freshen up," I murmured to him as I pulled away. He nodded and gave me a quick peck, before seating himself once more.

I turned and had to hold myself back from sprinting towards the door, power walking as inconspicuously as I could down the stairs and out the back door of the restaurant. In the dark alley out back, I expelled the breath I'd be holding and hugged myself, trying to calm down. My legs shook and I didn't trust them – not with this dress and these heels – so I slid down the wall beside me, concentrating on slowing my breathing to a reasonable pace.

* * *

><p><em>Which brings us back to the present.<em>

You know how in every horror movie or crime thriller the victim always scrambles away towards the dead-end? How they always end up falling over their own feet? Well, I can now safely say that I am no better than those floozies. The killer who strode towards me, bloody knife in hand, spurred my feet into action. Now, if the whole coffee spilling incident from before didn't clue you in, I am not very coordinated when confronted. And as it turns out, intense fear does not really help the situation, especially not in heels.

I scrambled to my feet and for the first time that night, did something any sane person would do, I ran. My heels clacked loudly in the alley and I realized that for all his scary and menacing features, the dark man didn't actually make a sound. But then again, my breath and heartbeat were too loud in my ears to hear much of anything anyway. I had almost made it to the bend in the alley when my heel got caught in a crack, snapping off and sending me crashing to the ground. I could hear the rip in my dress and for a moment, all I could think about was how this was my favorite dress and that I'd have to pay for it to be fixed, that I didn't want to have to find another one. Call it a coping mechanism, but in retrospect all that energy spent thinking would have been much more useful in figuring out an escape plan.

"You're not supposed to be here," the man murmured as he grabbed a fistful of my hair, hoisting me up to my feet.

"I don't want any trouble! Just let me go and I'll leave you to your business!" I squeaked, squirming away from him like a worm wriggling in the clutches of a hungry bird.

"I have to take you back," the man said in a firm voice, as though deciding something. He dragged me by my hair towards the mouth of the alley. We passed by the corpse of the man he'd stabbed, young, handsome face with brown hair and a cheerful sweater. The image would be forever seared into my brain. We stopped and the man seemed to deliberate. "Stay here," he commanded me, releasing my hair. "I need to make a call."

I couldn't believe he'd let me go. I stood there in shock for a moment as the man wandered back towards the corpse, collecting blood in a bowl and whispering some words. I waited until he was fully engrossed in what he was doing (and tried not to throw up), before I backed away. I managed to make it to the street and began waving my hands at a couple wandering halfway up the road. "Hey!" I yelled, "Help! Call the cops!" I had begun running towards them, trying to ignore the pain of the cuts and bruises I'd sustained.

The couple didn't notice me, they were too far up the road. They'd already begun turning the corner and out of sight, but I continued running. After a moment of brief freedom, a hand grabbed my arm and spun me around, my body swinging like a rag doll. The moment I realized that the killer had caught me, his fist came flying up to connect with my temple. The contact didn't hurt – in fact, it felt like nothing. Black swallowed my vision as I passed out. The last thing I remembered was the feeling of the man's strong arms encircling me as I fell inevitably towards the ground and towards unconsciousness.

"… all this. I'll explain when I can."

"Friggin angels…"

A low knocking sound. "Solid. It's real. Nice."

"Yeah. Yeah, real, moldy, termite eaten home sweet home. Chock full of crap that want to skin you. Oh, and uh, we're broke again."

"Yeah, but hey, at least we're talking."

"What are we going to do with her? Cas just left her here. Think she's dangerous?"

"I don't know, could be. Guess we'll find out, she looks like she's waking up."

I couldn't ignore the voices anymore. They'd turned from dreamlike and far away to very close and very confusing; what happened? I cracked my eyes open one at a time, my headache returning in full force with the power of a freight train hitting my skull.

The musty smell of the couch I was lying on made my nose twitch and it was all I could think about as I slowly pushed myself up, wincing at the ache of my body.

"Rise and shine," a gruff voice greeted, with no amusement in its tone.

I finally noticed the two men that stood before me, both very tall and both with highly intimidating, stony faces that looked down on me. One had his hand resting on a gun, holding it away from his body and pointing at the floor, but his arm was tensed and ready for anything.

I scrambled up on the couch until my back hit the window. "Who are you?! Please don't hurt me!" I yelled, the information of the last few hours slowly trickling into realization in my brain. "Where am I?" The room looked like a bomb had hit it; it was a mess with empty bottles of alcohol, strange substances floating in jars and items that looked like bones littering the various surfaces around the room. It must have been some kind of sick cult, a ritualistic kidnapping before they planned on killing me. They must have been in cahoots with the man who'd stabbed that guy in the alley.

"Relax," one of them soothed, the one with a mane of brown hair which he distractedly brushed out of his face.

"Relax?! RELAX?! You kidnapped me! And you're about to kill me! How can I-" I couldn't finish my rant, my breath caught in my throat before my breathing started accelerating rapidly and I started hyperventilating, my heart about to burst out of my chest.

The two man gave each other a loaded glance. The one who had told me to relax pointedly looked at the other one's gun. After a brief moment of hesitation, he put the gun in the back of his jeans, though I could see his hand still hovering in anticipation. The taller one made a move towards me, hand outstretched, but I bolted off the couch and out the archway to the left. I found myself in a kitchen and saw it contained much of the stuff from the other room; all the gross odds and ends, as well as old blood stains in the ground and what looked like bullet holes through walls. My eyes grew as wide as dinner plates as I took it all in. I continued through the house, getting as far away from the creeps as I could, and managed to find the front door. Sweet, sweet freedom beckoned me and I ran towards it, yanking it open. However, as I placed my foot out the door, a sharp jab to the back of my knee made my crumble to the floor and clutch it in pain. I was clearly not having much lucky in the whole 'fleeing for my life' department these days.

"You're not going anywhere," my captor told me as he hoisted me off the ground and pointed his gun to my back. I froze and turned as he tugged on my arm.

I couldn't help the whimpering that bubbled up my throat as he led me through the house of horrors and down an ancient staircase to the basement. The gun was like white hot metal burning a hole through my back and edging me forward with each tiny nudge. As I was pushed into a circular room with metal walls and a high, lit ceiling, I reached the point at which I knew there was no getting out. There wasn't a hope in hell that I would be leaving this place alive, unless my captors decided to pity me.

I stumbled into the room after a rough shove from the man behind me. I turned quickly, noting the lack of a gun to my back and watched as the man closed the hulking metal door behind me, his eyes watching me from the outside through a peephole. I realized that pity was not on the agenda; there was a cold callousness to his look, absolutely no room for mercy, and I shrunk in on myself, backing up to the far wall even though he was on the other side of the door. While I was well and truly imprisoned in this strange circular cell, at least I wasn't caged with the person those eyes belonged to; they were haunted and cruel.

I flinched as the peephole was shut with a loud _screech_ of metal on metal and sank to the floor. I should never have looked to see what was happening in that alley, I should have minded my own business. I should have stayed with Greg, kissed him, finished our dessert and made passionate love to my _fiance_, but instead here I was in some fucked up kidnapping with a bunch of criminally insane men, judging by their living environment. I looked at the shining diamond ring on my finger and fiddled with it gingerly, trying to make it fit right. It was my lifeline, the one thing that I knew was worth me fighting for. I needed to live, needed to see Greg again. Surviving this ordeal with my life would be difficult, but nothing was impossible.

But of course, like I said before; curiosity killed the cat.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So there you have it, what do you think of our leading lady? This will be one of my favorite types of fics - a romance with a very slow burn. (Emphasis on 'slow') We're in it for the long haul, kids! Hopefully you're all as interested as I am to see how Macy will shape up in this world, and how she'll go from having a fiance to maybe falling for our rugged Dean. Drop me a quick review (or a long one) and let me know what direction you think the story will/should go in. I've got big plans for this one, friends! Follow/favorite to find out! X**


	2. P1 - CHII: 'Prisons & Purple Flowers'

**A/N: I won't ramble on too long, but here's another update. Thank you for the follows/favs and reviewing, it warms my little heart! On to the story!**

* * *

><p><span>PART 1 - CHAPTER II: 'Prisons and Purple Flowers'<span>

* * *

><p>Before now, I didn't realize how much we rely on time measuring devices to run our lives. Calendars, watches, clocks, alarms, the movement of the sun; there's a reason we've placed so much importance on time keeping. Being locked in a metal silo with nothing but a rickety bed, large locked cupboards and lockers, and the presence or absence of light from above to tell me the time, I began my slow descent into insanity.<p>

It wasn't just the amount of time I spent there, it was also the knowledge of what was happening around me. My captors hardly ever came to check on me, and when they did, they were silent observers with cold eyes surveying my condition. Twice a day, they gave me some cold soup and some bread to sop it up, along with a bottle of water. I could only imagine what they were doing upstairs, or what they were planning to do with me, and with every passing minute my imagination grew much more creative and much more cynical. By the time the third day came, I'd already come to the conclusion that they were only keeping me alive until they were ready to chop me up and serve me for dinner. That was the day that I stopped eating the soup.

The day after I stopped eating soup was the day that something new happened; a new person came into my cell. It was like an invasion; a very intimidating, cripplingly terrifying invasion. Three larger than life men filed into the room one by one before resolutely shutting the metal door behind them.

"Name," one of them barked at me. I was sitting on the bed, my legs curled under me and my head resting on my knees. I was starving and lethargic from my lack of food and I didn't have the mental strength to face my captors head on.

"Macy," I replied, my throat scratchy from disuse.

"She's sick," at the new voice I really began paying attention. A man wearing a trench coat and suit was looking with mild, yet detached concern.

"Hitchhiking through dimensions will do that to you," one of the others said in answer. "We're kind of used to it by now."

I gave the man in the trench coat a puzzled look. He looked vaguely familiar, and I searched my memory banks for a clue as to why. I was quite certain I didn't know him, and yet I recognised his face. It took me a moment with my fuzzy brain, but after having gone over the incident with a fine tooth comb in my mind, I realized who he was.

"You- you're dead. How did you – what – I saw you die!" I exclaimed, at this point not worrying about the consequences of speaking out; if they wanted to kill me they'd have done it by now, and there were no weapons I could see at that moment.

The man gave me a blank stare and the two other men in the room looked between the two of us, almost comically.

"Cas? What does she mean?"

The man in the trench coat gave two strong strides towards me and bent to one knee to lower himself to my level. I tried scrambling further away from him, but I was as close to the wall as I could be. His hand reached up and firmly grasped my forehead; a cool sensation leaked through my mind and soothed my headache. I felt a few moments of brief relief before a strange numbness entered me and my vision turned white. I could still sense that I was _me_ and that I was at least conscious, but my senses had been disabled. There was a strange sensation in the back of my mind, a foreign movement as though something was digging around in there. I began to panic, but couldn't move, see, hear, smell, taste or feel anything except that what was in my mind. As the panic grew exponentially, the foreign presence removed itself from my mind and my senses were returned to me.

A high-pitched ringing was all that was left behind as I tried to orient myself again; it wasn't unpleasant, in fact it had a form of soothing effect as it slowly faded from my mind.

"…the hell was that?"

"One moment, Dean."

My sight filled with blue and it was a moment before I realized that I was looking straight into the eyes of the man who'd touched me. "What did you do to me?"

"My name is Castiel, I'm an Angel of the Lord. I was accessing your memories to ascertain exactly how you came to be here with Virgil."

I don't know exactly what it was about him, but Castiel had an air of truth that rang in every word he spoke. It wasn't quite that I believed every word he said, just that I felt the need to reign in my doubt and keep an open mind. I mean, nothing that had happened in the past few days was exactly normal according to my sense of the word. I'd seen the man before me stabbed to death; his face was permanently etched into my mind as the most significant and worst thing to have occurred. And yet here he was before me. Perhaps he wasn't being literal about the whole 'angel' thing, but then again there was no denying what I'd felt in my mind.

"And?" one of the other men spoke.

"This is Sam and Dean Winchester," Castiel continued, ignoring the prompt, "they helped rescue you from Virgil once you all returned from the alternate dimension you were found in. It's still unclear as to why he has brought you back, but I've just searched through your mind and I am certain that you are of no threat to us."

I blew out a breath as Castiel stood and stepped back to give me space. "You thought – you thought I was a threat? To you?"

"You were a flight risk and angels are notorious for being dickbags so we had to be sure," Dean, I think, spoke up, shrugging his shoulders as though having kept me in a silo for four days with no contact, showers, a change of clothes or direct sunlight was no big deal. I mean, I'd had to _pee in a bucket_ for god's sake! And all he gave me was a shrug?

"This is crazy," I shook my head, wringing my hands together to stop the shaking, "You're all crazy. Alternate dimensions? Angels? You need help."

Sam, the taller of the three, stepped forward, his hand outstretched in what looked to be a calming measure. It didn't work. "Listen, this world is different from yours. Here, magic, the supernatural, it's all real. And we're the guys who have to make sure that kind of stuff doesn't end the world. I know it's hard to believe but I think that inside you know it's true. Otherwise how would you explain this?" Sam pulled a knife from the waistband of his jeans and sliced a thin line down the middle of his palm. Blood spilled over the edges of his now split skin, staining his hand and dripping to the floor. "Cas?"

Castiel reached over, opened his palm and splayed his hands out. A soft bluish white light emanated from him, bathing Sam's palm for a moment. Seconds later, Castiel removed his hand and revealed the smooth, unmarked skin of the palm, as though the cut had never been there.

"How-" my voice came out as a whisper and I found myself moving off the bed and towards Sam, intending to get a closer look. It was a reflex action, borne out of my stupid curiosity and the craziness that containment brought on. But Dean was not having any of it.

"I don't think so," he commented, stepping forward and resting a hand on his gun.

I stepped back automatically, my fear rising up instantly to replace my curiosity. For a moment there, I'd almost forgotten how these people had treated me, I almost laughed out loud but I knew that was just my hysteria.

"Dean," Sam warned his brother. "Relax, she's just a woman. A _human_ woman. She's had a rough time, and we put her through most of that."

Castiel stepped forward and nodded at Sam. "Your brother's right. Whatever Virgil had planned for her, she doesn't know about. By all accounts she's completely human. She was taken captive by him. In fact, it seems almost coincidental."

"Cas, how do we know that-" Dean started, taking the hint from his brother to remove his hand from his gun.

"Dean, I don't have time for this. There is a war going on." The supposed Angel's voice lowered in depth and I could feel his words reverberate through me with an intensity that scared me. Dean must have felt it too because he just stared, not saying another word, his face a mask. And then the next moment, Castiel had gone.

My face must have betrayed the shock and hysteria that was about to burst forth. Sam stepped forward and handed me the bottle of water that sat on the table. "Drink," he commanded. "You're dehydrated and probably really hungry."

I nodded my head, not trusting myself to speak just yet. People don't just disappear into thin air. _But angels might_, a voice whispered in my mind.

He helped me up. Castiel's touch had removed the sickness building in my chest and soothed my muscles, but they had barely been used for days and since I'd gone on my hunger strike I'd become increasingly lethargic. Dean had left the room, and I welcomed his absence. Regardless of the 'threat' I had posed, I still couldn't bring myself to be okay with his callousness towards me. Sam had been less so, and was now making up for it by helping me up the stairs and through the house to a spare room in the back with an old lounge and dresser.

"This folds out. I'll bring you something to eat – something other than soup, that is. Any preferences?" Sam opened up the lounge and turned it into a slightly larger surface, placing the pillows up one end and throwing a sheet at the foot.

"No," I murmured, holding myself together so that I wouldn't shake.

Sam nodded, motioning towards the dresser. "There are some clothes in there if you want to uh... change." He looked down at my shredded dress and sighed. "It's mostly guys stuff, too large probably. Sorry about this, I know you didn't ask for any of it."

I didn't say anything, just moved enough for him to pass me on his way out. I stood there for a few more moments, staring at the sheet on the end of the fold out bed. It was old and faded, but I could make out the shapes of the small, purple flowers that patterned the material. I stared at it until the shapes lost their meaning and the colour drained from my vision until a slamming door somewhere in the rest of the house made me jump and shook me out of my trance. I edged towards the bed and curled up to the side furthest away from the door, hugging my knees. I began to cry, muffling the sounds of my sobs against the faded purple flowers.

* * *

><p>I wasn't sure what time I fell asleep, but by the time I woke up the sky outside the single grimy window of the room was dark. My tears had made my face crusty and my throat ached, but all in all it was the best sleep I'd had since I'd been there. I sat up and looked about the room, attempting to readjust to my surroundings. Someone had placed a tray of food on the table, an assortment of fried take out; a burger, fries, some Chinese food and a small salad on the side. My bottle of water had been refilled.<p>

I picked through it, eating small morsels here and there but filling up mainly on water. My appetite had died down significantly in the time I'd spent surviving off old soup, and later, not eating. After a while I gave up on the food and headed towards the dresser on the other side of the room, picking out a large flannel shirt and some old sweatpants with an adjustable waistband. I shrugged off my dress, wincing as the tight material scraped over some bruises and cuts. The clothes were fifty sizes too large and smelled as musty as the room, but they were warm and offered some comfort.

I picked up my dress, running the smooth material through my fingers and examining the rips and blood stains. This was the dress that I'd been proposed to in. I should have been looking at it with fondness and excitement, but the only thing I could associate it with was the trauma of the past few days…

I threw the dress into the corner.

As I timidly crept around the corner of the hall, I heard the low voices of Sam and Dean, scraping and glasses clinking. It sounded as though they were having dinner. I wasn't eager to interrupt, or to see them again, but I needed to talk. I'd done my time crying over what had happened, it was time to get some answers.

Sam and Dean sat at the kitchen table, bent over their dishes like it was their last meal. Dean was the first to notice me as he was the one facing the door. He stared at me for a moment, not bothering to stop eating his meal, before he looked away again. It felt like a dismissal. The look over his shoulder indicated to Sam that I was there and he put down his utensils and turned to face me.

"Macy, right? How you doin'?" Sam asked, as though I were an old friend.

"Okay," I replied, my voice timid. "Thanks for the uh, food."

"No problem. You were out like a light, didn't want to wake you."

I nodded and saw a chair at the other side of the room, sitting next to the window but facing the brothers. I walked over cautiously, acutely aware of the two pairs of eyes trained to my back, before I sat gingerly on the edge. After a brief pause, the pair continued to eat their dinner and I was thankful for the time to gather my thoughts.

"What exactly happened? How did I get here? And where is _here_?" I asked quietly. At first I thought they hadn't heard me, but Sam soon put down his fork and cleared his throat.

"We were sent to your dimension by another angel, Balthazar, to protect… something. We were being chased by the angel Virgil, who saw you and brought you back with him. When we hitchhiked a ride back, we saw that you were unconscious and Castiel told us to bring you back with us because you were obviously important enough to Virgil." Sam ignored the daggers that Dean was glaring at him. "We're in Sioux Falls, our friend Bobby's car yard."

I processed it and compared it to my memories and the strange phenomenon I'd seen with the angel Castiel. I took a deep breath and decided that if I was going to figure out how to get home, I was going to have to accept whatever these people told me. I'd figure out whether I was sane or not when I was safe.

"Okay…" I looked anywhere but at their faces. "So how do I get home?"

"Oh you're not going anywhere," Dean finally spoke up for the first time.

"Dean-" Sam started.

"What?" My voice was low, I almost didn't believe my ears.

Dean stood up and put his plate in the sink. "You're valuable to the angels, which means you're valuable to us. Whatever use you have for them means they'll be hunting you down. Maybe we could even use you as leverage..."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean," he warned. "Look, it's dangerous out there. We're going to figure out why he wants you and after we've sorted this out, we'll figure out a way to get you home."

I was starting to doubt Dean even had a conscience. "Can't I just get a plane back to Vancouver? I just want this to be over."

Sam looked at me with sympathy, "I don't think… that's how it works. You're not from here."

I gave a short bark of hysterical laughter and wiped a hand over my face. I was not handling this well. "Fan-fucking-tastic. Thanks. I'm not from here? Really? This whole situation is fucked up. I saw a guy get _murdered_ and the next thing I know he's here, digging through my noggin' and telling me he's an angel." I stood up and balled my fists, my fingernails cutting into my palm. "I was kidnapped, apparently saved by you two, and then held captive for _four days_ and now I'm supposed to believe that this is a different dimension? I don't know about you two but somehow 'I'm not from here' doesn't seem to cover it."

Dean rolled his eyes and drew himself up before me. "Look, I don't have time for this whiney crap. We've been through shit that's worse than your favourite nightmares. We saved your ass and until Cas was available to check properly, we had to make sure that wasn't a mistake. I would do the same _damn thing_ in a heartbeat because that's how we survive in this world. So suck it up, you're staying here whether you like it or not."

My eyes watered and tears traced their way down my cheeks. "I guess so," I whispered.

Sam stood up and placed his hand on his brother's shoulder, pushing him back slightly as he saw my hunched position, clearly intimidated. "She's been through a lot."

Dean glared at me and then his brother in turn, "We're not here to make friends." He stalked out the door and a moment later I heard another door slam shut somewhere else in the house.

He hadn't raised his voice. He hadn't invaded my personal space. His words had been spoken in complete sincerity and frustration; it was clear he didn't want to babysit me. The reality of my position finally sunk in and that simple fact was what made me sit heavily on the chair and cradle my head in my hands.

Sam remained quiet and eventually left the room.

I waited until I was sure that nobody would be walking in the hallway until I crept back into my room. Once there, I sat down on the bed and wondered at my next move.

I'd always been the lazy one, always procrastinating the important things until the last moment and avoiding dealing with uncomfortable situations. What I found myself in now was one giant uncomfortable situation, but there was no avoiding this one. As much as I was loathe to admit, Dean was right; whining about it would help nothing. These people seemed to know what they were talking about and I had no clue what this whole 'magical world' was about, so sticking with them seemed the smartest option, for now.

Having resolved to remain with these captors-turned-heroes at least for a while, I busied myself with sorting out the rest of the clothes in the dresser. It was clear they'd been untouched for a while, so I figured it couldn't hurt. There was no telling how long I would be there for, and until I knew I was going to spend as much time in that room and as little time out there interacting with those strange, dangerous people and angels as possible.

I'd finished sorting and folding two drawers before I heard movement outside my door. It was a quiet shuffling and I tensed, waiting for the door to open. But that never happened. Whispered words were exchanged and I debated whether or not I wanted to hear what they were saying; but apparently I hadn't learnt my lesson last time. I crept towards the door and stuck my ear near the crack.

"…I know, I know, save it."

"What are we going to do with her then?"

"I don't care. Leave her here, we have to investigate those murders. Bobby is going to meet up with us, we don't have time to babysit."

"What if something happens? She can't defend herself."

A sigh. "Then Cas can get his feathery ass down here and help her if she's so damn important. Which I doubt she is, by the way."

"Fine," a pause, "we have to get going soon, I'll grab our stuff. The longer we wait, the more people will end up dead. Go tell Macy what the go is. Try to be nice."

I scrambled back from the door as quickly as I could, heading back towards the dresser and picking up a pile of clothes. A few moments later there was a soft knock at the door.

"Come in," I called, not bothering to look up.

Dean opened the door slowly and walked two strides into the small room. "Sam and I are heading out to take care of a few things."

I nodded and continued folding some clothes. "Any idea how long you'll be?"

"No," Dean cleared his throat. "There are some books in the study… a bit of food in the fridge, should last. Don't touch anything else, most of it's dangerous. If anything happens head to the panic room and lock the door."

"You mean the prison?" I asked before I could stop myself.

Dean didn't immediately respond. There was a quiet scrabbling of paper and I finally turned my head to look at him. He placed a small note on the bedside table. "These are our phone numbers. Call if anything happens and we'll get back as soon as we can." His voice wasn't as hard as it had been the other few times he'd interacted with me, but I could sense the effort it was taking to maintain his calm façade for my sake, or more accurately his brother's sake. I wanted to say thank you maybe, or acknowledge the fact that I understood I was encroaching on their home and using their time, but the words stuck in my throat. Before I could get them unstuck, Dean had left the room.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Next chapter will be up as soon as I can get it finished. Drop me a quick review to let me know what you think, it truly warms my heart and reminds me I should update faster and more! Thanks for reading x**


	3. P1 - CHIII: 'La Belle Dame Sans Merci'

PART 1 - CHAPTER III: 'La Belle Dame Sans Merci'

* * *

><p><em>DEAN POV<em>

We never should have investigated those murders.

If I'd known what we'd have to go through just to kill that evil wormy son of a bitch that Eve had created, I would have gladly stayed home. But instead, here we were: Bobby unconscious in the back seat of the Impala, Sam by my side and me gunning it down the highway.

It had been a crazy twenty four hours, and the only silver lining I could see at that moment was the fact that Bobby wasn't dead. But Rufus was. I just wanted to get home, eat, and sleep.

"You think Bobby's going to be okay?" Sam asked, not bothering to hide his concern now that Bobby was deaf to the world in the back.

I nodded, glancing into the rear view mirror at the old man. "Yeah, he'll be fine. Just needs a good night's rest."

Sam stayed quiet and looked out the window at the passing streetlights.

"How you doin'? Holdin' up alright?" I hadn't forgotten the wall in his mind that was keeping my brother together, and I was just waiting for the other shoe to drop, so to speak.

"Yeah, fine actually," Sam replied, and I believed the sincerity in his voice.

"Good… that's good." I didn't voice my doubts about how long it would last.

"So, what about Macy?" Sam asked after a while of silence.

"What about her?"

"What are we gonna do with her?"

I shrugged. I hadn't though much of the woman since we'd let her out of solitary confinement, but she seemed alright, if a little fragile. The only problem was getting her back home: we didn't have enough time to figure out how to get her back to her dimension – not without Cas, who was MIA these days. "She'll be fine on her own. We don't have time to babysit."

"Dean, we can't just abandon her. We're the reason she was brought here in the first place," I could hear the familiar pang of guilt in his voice. He always had to pile it on thick, didn't he? "If we hadn't been in her dimension, Virgil would never have taken her."

"You can blame Balthazar for that," I grumbled, not wanting to admit I felt the same guilt he did.

"Dean-"

"Alright, alright, don't get bent outta shape. She can stay. But we have to fix this bucket load of crap we've stepped in before we can get her back, okay?"

Sam nodded, satisfied with my answer and looked out the window once more.

I smirked. "I forgot – you've got a sweet spot for helpless cases. Maybe you can get laid." I elbowed him suggestively. I knew I was laying it on thick, but we needed a distraction and Macy was easy on the eyes, in a damsel in distress kind of way. I didn't really expect Sam to take my suggestion seriously, but my comment had the intended effect in lightening the mood.

"Shut up, no way." Sam muttered. "I'm surprised you haven't hit on her yet. You usually hit on anything within a five-mile radius."

"Somehow, I don't think she'd be into me." It was the truth – I'd seen the way she looked at me, with fear written all over her pale, pretty face. "Me getting it on with dimension girl would not be a good idea. But you," I gave him the best of my sleazy grins, "You have that whole sad puppy dog thing going. You could definitely get away with it."

Sam shook his head and gave me a curious look. "Whatever you say, Dean."

It was times like these that I thought Sam could see straight through me, see that my reasoning was more than what I'd said. That really, I'd felt like maybe it was time to move on from Lisa even if it was a fling. That really, the second I'd looked into Macy's eyes and seen the spark of genuine fear that my presence brought, I'd realized that I wasn't good enough to be with anyone.

"Let's get Bobby home," I glanced at the old man in the mirror once more, aware that he was waking up and searching the back seat for his bottle of Johnny Walker.

* * *

><p><em>MACY POV<em>

If there was any silver lining to being cooped up in Freddy Kruger's crib, it was that I didn't get bored. You'd think being alone and confined to the one house would drive me bonkers, but after spending my time in the silo it was a luxury. Dean was right; the books in the study were more than enough to feed my appetite for activity. And the lack of human contact didn't worry me; I'd always been a loner before, the only difference was that the books I was burying myself in here were vastly different from the ones I read before. In the time it took the boys to get back from wherever the hell they'd gone off to, I'd read through over a dozen books and skimmed over a dozen more. It was gruesome reading; most of it mythology from ancient tomes with bible-thin pages and sketches of creatures I'd never even heard of before.

On the fifth day, I was standing at the stove in the kitchen trying to stir my poor attempt at a stew and failing miserably. I'd found some meat in the freezer that looked edible enough and some stock and old potatoes to go with it. I didn't know whether it was the ingredients, the utensils or just my piss-poor cooking skills but the stew was not turning out well at all. The kitchen had been messy when I'd first attempted to make myself something decent to eat, but in my time alone I'd moved a few things around and scrubbed off the worst offending blood stains. It wasn't that I had wanted to help out around the house before they got back – it was purely selfish; there was no way I would be able to stomach a meal with the kitchen looking like that.

"Well fuck you too," I told the stew as it stuck stubbornly to the pot while I attempted to spoon out a bowl of it for myself. When I said I enjoyed being alone, I didn't mean it was exactly healthy for my sanity.

I sat down at the rickety table and popped a spoonful of it into my mouth; the meat was chewy and burnt and the gravy tasted way too salty. I'd had to overcompensate for my lack of vegetables. But that was the least of my worries, as I soon found out.

The front door smacked against the wall and a few moments later three people tumbled into the kitchen, the brothers holding up a third man between them with his head hanging and his feet dragging.

"Get some water," Dean barked at no one in particular.

My hand was frozen midway between my stew and my mouth, still holding a spoonful. I couldn't move, the shock was too much.

"Now!" The command jolted me out of my paralysis and I jumped to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water and following after the trio into the lounge room. They put the man down on the couch and stood back, surveying the damage. I handed Sam the water.

As Sam helped the older man's head to sip from the bottle, I examined him. There were no visible signs of trauma and he was conscious, so whatever ailment he suffered from must have been minor. He had a greying beard, flannel shirt over a dark t-shirt, ripped jeans and a trucker cap on.

"What happened to him?" I asked, bending down to look into his eyes. He moved back from the contact, eyeing me suspiciously, but his eyes were unfocused and his movements weak.

"What are you doing?," Dean asked. I felt his hand on my arm, tugging me roughly away.

"I can help, I graduated from John Hopkins medical."

There was a brief moment of silence, with only the ragged breathing of the man before me, until Sam spoke up. "His name's Bobby. He was electrocuted earlier today but he was fine afterwards. We think he's just had too much to drink but he can't hold himself up, which is unusual even if he has been drinking."

I nodded; I'd done a summer interning at the local hospital ER and had learnt not to question the exact cause of trauma until after the patient was stable, even if the electrocution part was a big warning sign. "How much has he had to drink?"

"Half a bottle of blue label Johnny Walker." Dean held up the bottle as evidence, before taking a swig of it himself and glancing down at the older man.

"I'm fine," Bobby drawled from his position, swatting away the worried hands of Sam. "Just need to sleep it off, is all."

"I've seen this kind of thing before, but it doesn't look like he has any peripheral neuropathy, otherwise he would be in a lot more pain. Unless it's very mild, acute neuropathy, it should wear off after a few days of rest, depending on the voltage of the shock." I tested the reflexes of each of his legs, tapping each knee and nodding in satisfaction as they reacted as should be. "The muscles in his legs seem to be working properly, no significant nerve damage. The alcohol probably didn't help." I gave Sam a pointed look in askance at his inebriated state.

"We lost a friend. He's grieving."

"Oh-" I was never any good at funerals. "I'm sorry for your loss." It seemed inadequate. I directed my next words at Sam once more. "What kind of voltage are we talking here?"

Sam shook his head, his long hair swishing. "I'm not sure, enough to knock him out and scramble his eggs a little. But he was up and walking for a while until he had the alcohol. We didn't realize he was drinking so much of it until he'd downed half."

"That's good. We'll keep him hydrated and monitor his progress. Where did he get shocked?"

Bobby pulled down the neck of his shirt and revealed the two shock wounds on either side, circular burns about the size of a grape each.

"Get me some gauze," I ordered, not bothering to direct it at anyone in particular. The wounds didn't look infected, but I didn't want to take any chances. I snagged the bottle of alcohol from the table where Dean had left it and poured some onto the wounds, apologizing when Bobby winced at the pain.

"I've had worse," he said in response.

It took me only a few minutes to bandage up the wounds and only a few minutes more after that before Bobby had fallen asleep. Sam and I were in the corner of the room discussing the amount of time it should take for him to properly heal. As Sam spoke about his past experience with situations similar to this, I watched out of the corner of my eye as Dean grabbed a blanket from the arm of the lounge and, in an action uncharacteristically caring of the man I'd come to know in my short time there, gently laid it across the unconscious man before removing his hat and placing it on the floor beside him.

"I made some stew, there's probably enough for all of us if you'd like some," I offered the room once things had settled down.

Sam nodded and we both walked to the kitchen, Dean wandering in silently behind us. As I spooned out the helpings into the cleanest bowls I could find and heated them up in the microwave, Sam decided to fill the empty silence.

"So how does a med student from JH end up in Vancouver?" Sam asked, not unkindly. His face was open and curious, not the suspicious glares I'd come to expect from the inhabitants of this house. After a few days alone, I was more than willing to accept the offer of friendship.

I placed the bowls in front of Sam and Dean and sat down on the chair in the corner once more. "That kind of work didn't really suit me. After I graduated, some family stuff happened and… it just made me realize what I wanted, I guess." I didn't want to get into the gory details of the death of my parents; I'd long since come to terms with the loss, but rehashing it was unnecessary.

Sam nodded, his eyes making a passing glance at Dean who was contentedly wolfing down the meal. "What did you decide to do instead?"

It sounded like he was asking about something in the past, and not my present, as though my life back home was over. I folded my arms and tried to remember that there was a way back, there _had _to be. "I'm a writer, actually. Mostly romance. It's much more my pace than medicine."

"That's quite a change. You must be good then?"

I shrugged. "I had some mild success with my first published novel. I've got a book deal for a sequel, but I've been having a bit of trouble finding the words…" I was getting frustrated just thinking about it.

"That's impressive," Sam smiled, delving into his stew. I appreciated the sentiment but I knew it was just another polite thing to say. What did all of that mean here?

After the conversation ended there was a comfortable silence as we finished our meals. Dean muttered something about unpacking the car and wandered off outside, and Sam offered to help clean up, probably to make up for the lack of a 'thank you' from his brother. I hadn't really been expecting one, to be honest. After all, I was in their house and eating their food. The least I could do was share.

I shoved my hands elbow deep into the soapy water and retrieved the first of the dishes, bringing it up and handing it to Sam to dry. We continued like that until Dean called his brother into another room, presumably to talk about something of grave importance judging from the seriousness in Dean's tone. I finished up the dishes by myself before I heard shuffling from Bobby in the other room and decided to check on him.

Handing him a glass of water, I sat on a chair before him. "I didn't get to introduce myself earlier. I'm Macy."

Bobby sipped from the water and scratched his head, looking around for his cap and finding it sitting on the armchair. He sat it on his head and pulled it comfortably down so that his eyes were almost covered.

"Bobby Singer," he grunted in greeting. "Thanks for the patch up, doc."

"Anytime," I smiled at him. "How did you sleep?" I knew I sounded way too doctor-y, but I couldn't help it. All those years in medical school had trained me to respond.

"Not bad, just can't sleep more than an hour at a time these days, gotta keep movin'." He shifted and threw the blanket off him. "The boys tell me you hitched a ride here on the back of an angel. You're welcome to stay here for however long you need, anybody hidin' from those winged sons of bitches is a friend of mine."

It was interesting to see that kind of stark honesty and trust, especially in someone who appeared so rugged and closed. I suppose it came down to the whole 'the enemy of my enemy' crap, but it made me feel a little better knowing that this man was happy to have me here until I was able to go home. Bobby wasn't particularly verbose, as I found out during the rest of the conversation, but he seemed much nicer than he appeared. I left him after a while, promising to save some of the stew for him later on.

After the last few days I hadn't seen the sun in a long time and since everyone seemed to be home and healthy, I thought it couldn't hurt to wander out the front door and actually breathe in some fresh air for a little bit. I'd seen the car yard from the window of the kitchen, but after having been taken and held by force, I'd thus far been less than eager to venture out into the world on my own. After convincing Bobby to try to go back to sleep, I stepped out onto the porch. As I did so, I heard a radio playing some soft rock close by and I knew that with Dean there I would be somewhat safe. Sure, he was an asshole, but if anything happened to me he'd step up to the plate.

The air was light and clean, a great relief from the musty smell from within the house. It was dark, the sky above painted with millions of tiny stars and a large half-moon that hung, looking at me as though winking. The car yard that had seemed slightly ominous to me before, what with its sharp metal and countless places for nefarious things to hide in, now seemed somewhat peaceful bathed in the white light of the moon.

It was easier to think out here. Easier to view my problems without the weight of people surrounding me, or crazy magical artifacts sitting next to me. Out here, with the sound of Kansas playing and the empty shells of cars in their graveyard, everything seemed almost normal.

"Shit," Dean's muttered curse came from the garage.

I walked down the porch and found the opening of the garage, an extension to the main house that was filled with what I assumed was a wide variety of mechanical tools and parts, all strewn about on a mismatched arrangement of tables and shelves crowding the walls. In the center was a black car, sleek and long, its owner leaning against the hood wrapping a cloth around his hand as he peered with a deep frown into the open bonnet. The single light from the high roof poured its yellow illumination over Dean, his hair bright while his face remained shadowed and harshly angular. It took me a moment to speak, my throat had closed up in an involuntary reaction of caution around the man.

"Are you alright?" I shouldered past the discomfort I still felt.

Dean looked up, the light finally being allowed access to his face. The stubble on his cheeks and the bags under his eyes were brought into sharp relief. "Yeah," he replied gruffly, turning back to his car. He seemed to deliberate for a moment. "I don't suppose you know how to check the level of car fluids?"

I shook my head. "Sorry." Cars were certainly not my thing.

"Right," he said, eyes still examining his car. He reached in with his hand still covered in a cloth, fiddled with something and winced before withdrawing his hand once more.

I moved forward to stand beside him, far enough away so that I wouldn't invade his personal space, but close enough to let him know I was interested in talking. "Let me look at it."

His expression as he looked up at me made it seem as though he were about to laugh at the suggestion, but not quite. "The car? Don't worry about it, I can do it myself."

"No, you're hand," I rolled my eyes and pointed at the cloth bound appendage.

"I don't need any medical attention, doc."

"Please, humor me," I said with an attempt at a smile, "I've been cooped up for days and I want to help in some way. I'm useless doing everything else. Even my cooking is terrible."

"It's just a bruise," he clarified when he held out his hand dutifully towards me. Part of me still saw him as the cruel man who'd kept me in a cage, but the other part of me, the one that believed more in the goodness of people, saw the reasoning behind it and the kindness both of the brothers had shown me.

I unwrapped the cloth slowly, careful not to jostle him. Underneath, Dean's hands were scarred and rough, callouses making tough ridges around his knuckles, and smaller ones on his palm. They were older marks, probably formed by years of an active and rough lifestyle. Hunting monsters, they'd said. I could see scars from something sharp, perhaps a knife. Monsters wielded knives? I shook the analysis from my mind and focused on the fresh bruises that painted the hand, purple and blue, centered mainly on the connecting knuckles of the first two fingers.

"You should probably wear a splint," I commented, "but somehow I don't think you will. You've probably bruised the tendons, nothing major. I can wrap it properly for you but it will take a while to heal. Try not to use it too much." The cloth didn't seem like a bad substitute for a proper bandage, so I wrapped it tightly, without cutting off circulation, in order to support the weakened section of the hand.

"Thanks," Dean nodded, pulling his hand from my grip and examining my handiwork. "Not bad."

I tried not to think what could have possibly happened while they were away that could have caused his injury, the electrocution that Bobby had suffered, and resulted in the death of one of their friends.

I noted the dismissal that came in the form of Dean turning back to his car. I turned and picked my way through the messy garage, intending on returning to the house to go to sleep. It had been a nice adventure, coming out here, but it was time to go back to the safety of those four walls. Maybe if I went to sleep, I'd wake up and this would all just be a dream… Of course, life had other plans, as always...

_The dreamscape is a place that I'd always been able to recognise; a blurry, half imagined, half realistic painting in my mind. It always used to be a place to escape, maybe think up a new storyline for a book or two. Sometimes it would be dark and dangerous, but I'd always felt safe and secure in the knowledge that I was running the show and that I could wake up whenever I wanted to in my own bed. This time, however, was different. _

_I was in the car yard again, Dean standing next to me, both of us surveying our surroundings. The landscape was grey and drained of life; no longer was it the peaceful environment I'd found solace in earlier. The trees whipped threateningly this way and that as an ominous, roiling cloud of dark purple swirled angrily above._

_We heard a distant scream, but neither of us reacted. Instead, I slowly turned my head to look at Dean, my hair whipping about my face and obscuring my vision slightly. A light emanated from his skin and he was, simply put, beautiful. His eyes met mine and he held out his hand. I took it firmly, threading my fingers through his and letting the warmth of his palm sooth the racing of my heart. _

_"__He's here. I won't let them take you."_

_I frowned, my conscious mind not understanding the words that came from Dean's lips. As I continued to stare at him, he vanished, only to be replaced by Greg, who looked startlingly average in comparison to the brightness that had shone from Dean. _

_"__It's okay," Greg smiled at me, and I automatically smiled back. The happiness at seeing his face once more was short lived. "I'm free now without you." He looked up towards the roiling sky and opened his arms, letting go of my hand. _

_"__No, don't!" I could sense the intention of the clouds and knew what lay ahead if he let himself be given up. "Not again!"_

_Greg didn't hear me, and within moments, a brilliant white light shot down from the sky and consumed him, leaving me alone. _

_The scream that ripped its way out of my throat made no noise and the silence was more deafening than any sound._

_"__It always ends the same way for you, doesn't it?" The smug voice broke the silence. It was simultaneously a relief and a terror. _

_A figure emerged from between the cars, a shimmering form with no face and a glowing presence. _

_"__Who are you?" I called to it. _

_"__I am the one who has been looking for you for millennia." The figure walked further towards me, its face smoothing out and defining itself until finally I could glimpse a dark skinned woman, her face unlined and expressionless, but with a cold calculation that chilled me to my core. "When Virgil told me of your presence here after so long, I almost didn't believe him. Almost."_

_"__I don't know what you're talking about. I don't know you." My loud voice echoed and almost got lost in the wind, but I knew he'd heard it. _

_"__You…" she shook her head, eyes never leaving mine. "You have evaded the consequences of your actions for far too long."_

_I began to turn, to find a way to escape. This woman, this thing, before me was not… good. My dream had turned on me, my own mind manifesting something that intended me harm. I needed a way out. The house was no longer behind me, the garage absent and the car yard now an empty space. I was standing on nothing and my vision was filled with grey, except for the white eyes that stared at me. _

_"__And when I find you, I will take great pleasure in watching you burn."_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Duh, duh DUH! Bet I have your interest now, hey? Send me a review if so, and feel free to speculate wildly about what exactly is going on with Macy - I bet you a hundred bucks no one will get it. **

*** The title of this chapter ('La Belle Dame Sans Merci': aka 'The Beautiful Lady Without Mercy') is a the title of a poem by John Keats, probably one of my favs of the Romanticism era. Feel free to check it out!**


	4. P1 - CHIV: 'Distraction'

PART 1 - Chapter IV: ' Distraction'

* * *

><p>I woke up, sweating a river in my bed. Not <em>my<em> bed, but the bed I'd come to know as mine in the past week. I was still at Bobby's house and I was still completely lost. The dream lingered, not letting me out of its grasp and keeping me from clearing my mind. That was odd; dreams were supposed to stop when you woke up, but the fear from this one was very much my current reality. And the message was clear: I was in danger.

I usually never had dreams, and when I did it was often because I was sick or I'd eaten something funny the night before. This one had felt all too lucid and I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that I hadn't been alone in my mind last night.

As I lay there, relaying all that had occurred in my dreamscape the night before, it took me a moment to register the smell of food. Was I still dreaming? Or was that… bacon and eggs?

"Morning!" A cheery voice greeted me as I stepped gingerly into the kitchen.

"Morning?" It came out as a question, my confusion increasing with every new feature I noted. The kitchen was no longer a mess, but a comfortable and warm hub of activity. A woman, older, but with a sturdy build and warm honey eyes smiled at me as Bobby sat at the table, digging into his breakfast.

"Hope you're hungry. You mentioned you had a big day today, so you'll need it, hon."

"Who-" I started, but was interrupted by the phone ringing. The woman picked it up and began talking to whoever was on the other end. I gave Bobby a strange look, but he paid me no notice, simply content to continue his meal as though this were an everyday occurrence.

What the fuck.

I backed out of the room slowly and made my way to my bedroom, a form of sanctuary to me now. But someone had invaded it.

"Long time no see," the man greeted happily, clapping his hands together. He sat on my bed, looking entirely too comfortable for a stranger to be.

"And who are you?" I asked, not being able to help the exasperated tone of my voice. I'd had enough surprises in the past few days to last me a life time.

"You don't recognise me?" He looked genuinely surprised. He was a lanky man, older but with an impish smile that spelled mischief. There was something about him that pulled my mind back to the night before, an otherworldly, ethereal quality. "My dear, it has been a while. You humans and your horrible memory… Regardless, I wouldn't go around shouting about how different everything is, they won't take too kindly to it."

I crossed my arms tightly, digging my fingers in. Panic was threatening to burst forth from the back of my mind, but I squashed it back. "You did this, didn't you? What's going on?" I hated not being in the know and asking questions all the time was giving me the shits.

"Rather handy distraction, isn't it?" He tilted his head. "Had to get some time with you, among other reasons. Couldn't have you running off to the Winchester's and tattling on me, now could I?"

I was scared, I really was. The longer I stood there, the more I was certain that this thing before me wasn't human. I couldn't help but focus on the otherness to him, like I had sensed in Castiel. When he spoke, the way he moved, the light behind his eyes; he was different. I kept my mouth shut.

"This conversation would have gone a lot smoother if you'd remembered me, but alas! We shall have to make do, make my peace and all that." He waved his hand in an offhand manner, smiling at me. "You are in terrible danger. Dramatic, I know, but you know me. I tried to save you from it last time, but that got me in a world of trouble."

"Last time?" my voice was low and cautious, the words from last night echoing through my mind.

"Yes," he nodded, standing. "I have a habit of using that pesky little dimension Virgil found you in for dumping my problems. You weren't the first problem I solved using that place and you certainly weren't the last."

I shook my head vehemently. "No, I'm _from_ that dimension. No one put me there, I belong there. That's my home. You've got it all backwards, buddy. I don't know who you think you are but –"

"Balthazar, my good lady. An angel of the Lord yada, yada, yada and so forth."

A realization hit me like a freight train. "If you're an angel – take me back."

Balthazar wiggled his finger at me, "Not again. No thank you. You don't know what they've put me through after the last time."

I was getting desperate, this was the first glimmer of hope I'd had of getting home in my short time here. I'd denied everything that was going on, ignoring the fact that this was real life, and focusing on the simple fact that if I could get back then this would all be in my past. But now that I was faced with the opportunity to get back, I would not be letting it go. "I don't know anything about that, but what I do know is that if you put me there before, then you must have had a reason for it. Take me back."

Balthazar looked conflicted, running a hand through his shaggy blond hair. He huffed in frustration and gave me a strained look. "If I hide you again, I'd never be forgiven. I tried once, and that failed. I'm only warning you now because I still feel like I'm friends with you, even if you don't remember. Even talking to you is dangerous for me."

I could almost cry, tears pricked at the back of my eyes. "But you're an _angel_-" my breath hitched. "You're supposed to-"

Balthazar drew himself up, and even though he didn't move, it felt like his presence filled up every inch of the room. I shrunk back and closed my eyes for a moment before opening them once more to be met by the blazing glare of the angel before me.

"I protected you once. Don't think that I owe you anything more. This is the last time I will help you; stay away from the other angels, or you will never see your old dimension or this dimension ever again." He turned away from me, head bowed as though in defeat. "Good seeing you again. Now I'm off to save a boat."

I shivered. In the time it took me to blink, he'd gone. The morning light that had been streaming through the window had shifted, and it now looked to be the orange of dusk. I was almost afraid to see what else had changed without my knowledge, but knew it was better knowing. I cracked open my bedroom door and peered outside. There was no breakfast smell, no sound of sizzling bacon and, when I walked into the kitchen, no strange woman greeting me like an old friend.

Instead, as I rounded the corner, Bobby was back on the couch, dozing in a restful sleep as though he'd been there the entire time. I was starting to get whiplash.

Sam and Dean returned to Bobby's soon after and I was still shaking from the encounter; both with Balthazar, and what I now assumed was an avenging angel from my dream.

Dean took one look at me as he entered the kitchen and silently grabbed a bottle of whisky from a cabinet, pouring three generous glasses. I took it with both hands gratefully, not wanting to spill it, and drank deeply. It wasn't a pleasant taste but I was no stranger to the drink and welcomed its stinging warmth as it went down my throat and settled in my stomach.

"What happened?" Sam asked.

I relayed the events of the past few hours, the dream and the visit from Balthazar, as accurately as I could, trying to keep it as objective and factual as possible and trying to leave out the parts where I stood paralysed by fear. I also left out the part where Dean was in my dream. By the time I'd finished, I was on my third glass and was well on my way to being buzzed, which I was thankful for. The shaking had stopped and the presence of the two, burly men before me helped me feel a little less vulnerable. Even though I didn't know them, I trusted them implicitly.

"This isn't good," Sam stated the obvious.

Dean gave a low whistle. "You aren't a true part of our world until you have the angels gunnin' for you. Congrats."

I snorted and took another swig. "Thanks," I muttered drily.

"We'll go over the warding again, and when we get a chance, we'll sort through whatever lore we have to figure out how to get back to your dimension," Sam said seriously. He'd stopped drinking a few glasses back. "It looks like the angels don't have access to grace back in your world so you'd be safe there."

It was going over my head a bit and was a little overwhelming for my current inebriated state, but I nodded anyway. Going home sounded like a good plan to me.

"We're heading out the day after next," Sam continued, "Think you can hold up here for a bit until we get back?"

It was amazing that fear filled me at the concept of being alone again, but I didn't say anything, merely nodded once more and stood. "I think I'll head off to bed." I wasn't particularly tired but I knew Sam and Dean wanted some time to talk judging by the significant looks they were giving each other.

Well shit. Angels after me and Sam, Dean and Bobby would be gone by this time in two days, leaving me helpless. Chances of my survival were looking grim.

* * *

><p><em>DEAN POV<em>

The next morning, I found myself in a position I sure as hell didn't want to be in.

It was Sam's idea, so of course I thought it was stupid. But he'd put up a fuss about it so it was no surprise that eventually I relented and attempted what I'd told him was impossible: teaching Macy how to defend herself within a few short hours.

"Just the basics," he'd told me, "just enough to give her a fighting chance if anything comes for her."

"Sam, we're leaving tomorrow morning. Anything I teach her now won't do her any good." I'd argued. But after taking another look in his sad puppy eyes, what was I supposed to do?

He was right, of course. She did deserve any fighting chance she could get, but if the angels were after her were self-defense skills really all that valuable?

I found her in the study the day before Sam, Bobby and I were leaving. She sat with her back to me, reading over some lore books and sipping at a cup of coffee as though sitting in Bobby's house researching the supernatural was the most natural thing for her to do. She'd put her hair up in a messy bun, leaving her slender neck exposed, showing its graceful line down to her slight shoulders that her flannel shirt hung lopsidedly off. It wasn't hard for me to admit that she was attractive, anyone with eyes could see that, but the thought caught me off guard. _Besides, she'll probably be dead within a few days anyway_, a cynical voice suggested in the back of my mind.

"You busy?" I asked sarcastically in way of greeting.

She jumped at my voice and turned around, pulling her flannel shirt higher up her shoulders modestly. "Um… no, no I'm not." She glanced at my face and away again timidly.

I hated the look in her eyes: fear. She was scared of me. I suppose by then I should have been used to it, what with our line of work and the kind of person I was: a murderer, really. But it still took me by surprise, _humans_ weren't supposed to be scared of me. They were the ones we were trying to protect, after all. But then I remembered what she'd been through earlier on, having to stay trapped in Bobby's dingy little panic room for days until we'd been sure she was okay. Yeah… I deserved the look she was giving me.

"Come out back," I told her, pointing my thumb to the back door that led out to a small field perfect for practice. "I'll teach you some stuff to help you out while we're gone, just in case."

I thought she might protest, she seemed like the type that didn't like getting her hands dirty – more of an indoors-y nerdy type. But she surprised me when she confidently nodded and placed the book down, following me outside and not batting an eye when I told her she needed to listen and learn quickly because it might save her life. I almost thought I had her pegged wrong – until I brought the gun out.

"I've never shot a gun before," she blurted out, looking at the object in question as I held it harmlessly by my side, safety on. The bullets wouldn't do anything to an angel, but since we'd warded the house the only danger she was in came from whoever the angels sent in to get her.

I wasn't surprised by her inexperience, it was written all over her. "That's alright. Just make sure you only use it when you need to, keep it pointed downwards until you need to shoot." I demonstrated on my gun, but then unloaded it before handing it to her. "Here, take it." She gingerly took it in her small hands, as though it would bite her. "It's not loaded, relax Texas Ranger."

It took her a few times to hold it right, but I managed to keep my patience as I showed her repeatedly how to place her hands and how to aim correctly. With each time I got her to do it, the more confident she grew and it wasn't long before she was quite comfortable with the weapon in her hands.

"You ready to try shooting?"

She nodded, retaining her confidence. I took the gun from her and loaded it before quickly aiming it at the well-used and abused targets that stood several feet down the field from us. It was faster and easier to dunk her in the deep end now, no use sugar coating the shock of shooting. I capped off a few shots, hitting it square in the center before flicking the safety back on and glancing over at Macy. She'd covered her ears at the noise and blanched when I handed the gun to her.

"Keep your fingers clear from the slide or hammer," I flicked her thumb away and made her reposition it on the gun.

"Am I… Am I doing it right?" She was holding the gun too rigidly, her feet too far apart overcompensating the balance.

I stepped over with a sigh and kicked her foot, "Closer, shoulder width apart." I grabbed the elbow of her non-dominant arm and pulled it back so that she relaxed, and gripped her shoulders so that she was leaning slightly forward on her dominant side. Most of this was semantics, but it if she didn't learn properly the first time she'd get in a bad habit if she ever had to shoot again.

"I'm going to help you aim, okay?" I asked, not sure whether she was okay with me being within her personal space. If her look before was anything to go by, I thought she'd say no and kick me in the balls or something, but she surprised me again and nodded tersely, her fingers still gripping the gun tightly.

I stood behind her, my chest a hairs-width apart from her back, and wrapped my arms around her until my hands could grip the gun on top of hers. I ducked my head until I was in line with hers, gazing down the barrel of the gun. I could feel her breath quickening, but chose to ignore it: if she was that scared of me, she was more than welcome to say something. Besides, she was the one holding the damn gun.

Part of my brain was distracted, I'll admit. She was a woman after all, and I was close enough to smell her hair. The old me, the one who would have hit on her the second I set my sights on the woman, would have made a move or told her a line about 'the end of the world' and all that. She was the perfect candidate for a one-night stand: gorgeous, leaving soon, and right in front of me. But I smacked that voice out of my head: she was engaged, first of all, her flashy ring made that clear, and she didn't strike me as the type to have a passionate night with a random stranger, especially not one she was afraid of. Of course, the timid ones were usually the wildest in bed…

I cleared my throat. "Line up the front sight with the target," she adjusted her aim, "just slightly below where you want the bullet. Good. Now, this is a semi-automatic so to load it, you have to pull back the slide." She followed my instructions to a 'T'. "Now slow your breathing," It took a little while for her to relax, but I finally felt her breathing slow to a reasonably normal pace. "And when you're ready, take the safety off and _gently_ squeeze the trigger-" She fired. I wasn't finished with my instructions about what would happen _after_ she'd shoot, about the follow through or the shaking. So as she fired, her head jerked back and hit me right on my cheekbone.

"Shit," I muttered, rubbing the spot. I'd definitely have a bruise.

"Oh my God," she said quietly, her hand pointing the gun towards the floor as I'd shown her.

"Put the safety on," I told her quickly. She did so, before placing the gun on the floor and approaching me with a wince on her face as I touched the tender spot.

"I'm so sorry, do you want some ice or-"

I waved off her concern. It hurt but I'd had much, _much_ worse before. I dropped my hand from my throbbing face and grabbed the gun off the floor.

Sam had told me to teach her some self-defense moves, but I weighed the time we had left with the chances of her actually being able to _use_ any of those moves in a fight against angels or their trained henchmen. Chances were she'd never even know they were there until it was too late. So instead, I handed her the gun and told her to practice shooting, though this time I kept my distance.

After two hours of sporadic shooting, Macy seemed to have grasped the basics.

"Not bad, Dylan Sanders," I told her once we declared the lesson over.

"Who's Dylan Sanders?" She asked, handing me the gun and massaging her hands.

"You know, Drew Barrymore's character from Charlie's Angels?" I mentally kicked myself. "Never mind."

Macy tried to hide a timid smile but it didn't work very well. "Well, thank you, for teaching me and all that. I know it probably won't do much good if anything actually happens but for once I don't feel as useless."

I noted the glimmer in her eyes; she'd enjoyed it. "You know for someone who was scared of an unloaded gun a few hours ago, you seem to have had a lot fun. You do realise this was to save your life, right?"

Macy nodded, "I just didn't know it could be so… exhilarating!"

I could almost have laughed at her surprised expression – she looked shocked at her own words. But then I remembered why I had to teach her how to shoot in the first place. Dean Winchester: ruining people's innocence one person at a time.

"I need a drink…" I muttered, turning back to the house and putting the gun in the waistband of my jeans.

* * *

><p><em>MACY POV<em>

Today had been one hell of an eye opener.

When Dean had first approached me about shooting a gun – I almost said no. For some reason I always had it in my mind that guns were bad, evil things that had no place in our society. While that may have been true back home, here with all of this danger and uncertainty I'd realized the kind of comfort that came from being able to defend yourself. I think Dean was just as surprised as I was when I actually enjoyed the lesson.

Being close to him when he'd helped me aim hadn't hurt either… Of course, that was just an errant thought, because I was a faithful girlfriend, even if Dean was mildly attractive. I'd almost had a heart attack when he'd put his arms around me, both from fear at how vulnerable I was to someone I'd come to be scared of, but also at his closeness. But I was sure he'd looked at me with disdain from behind me at my reaction at our proximity. My attraction towards him was physical, mixed in with the tragic hero vibe, sprinkled in with dangerous fear at what he was capable of. Maybe it was Stockholm syndrome…

Regardless, the guilt I felt at my useless musings was enough to quash the thoughts. I couldn't imagine what Greg would think of me salivating over some random guy while I was missing. He was probably worried sick…

That night we had takeout dinner: a few pizzas, of which Sam and Dean both wolfed down and I picked at, not really in the mood for food these days.

As Dean had said earlier, he had needed a drink. When he offered me a glass, I gladly accepted while Sam excused himself from drinking with a comment about needing a clear head tomorrow. Dean apparently had no such qualms and poured himself a hearty serving.

We were several glasses of whisky in after dinner, when Sam stood up and stretched, "I'm going to hit the sack. Don't drink too much, we've got some driving to do tomorrow Dean."

Dean waved his brother's warning off and muttered something about Sam being a lightweight. It was fun to watch the banter and I grinned at him, wondering about the difference between the man I'd first met who kept me locked in the panic room below us, and the admittedly slightly drunk but easy going man who sat before me.

"What?" Dean asked at my thoughtful expression.

"Nothing, really. Just thinking about stuff." I pondered out loud. "I thought you were a dick but I guess you're just closed off."

Dean hummed into his glass, taking a sip and watching me over the rim. "Comes with the territory of our line of work. So does the alcoholism, but it _is_ nice to have someone who'll actually have a drink with me. Sammy doesn't usually partake."

"You keep mentioning it, but I don't actually know what you guys _do_. Like, do you carry around ray guns and suck ghosts into little metal boxes? Or are you more Scooby-doo style and try to talk them into being moral?" The alcohol was making my tongue loose and I couldn't stop the verbose writer's flow of questions.

Dean laughed, the first time I'd heard that sound come out of his mouth, and I couldn't help but be a little charmed by the way it nearly lit up his eyes and the sides of his mouth quirked up almost unwillingly, fighting against the mirth. I'm sure if he hadn't been drinking, the laugh would have been bottled up never to see the light of day, but I was glad I got to witness it.

"Not quite," he replied. "We like to handle things with a little more… finesse." He reached behind him and retrieved his gun, the one I'd been practicing with all day, placing it on the table before him with pride. I thought the gun had been for protection purposes only but obviously their line of work was always a 'kill or be killed' situation. The sight of the metal object, as well as the knowledge that the man before me could kill me within seconds if he chose, made me shiver.

"Didn't your mama ever tell you two wrongs don't make a right?" I meant the comment lightly, trying to ease my own tension, but the laughter died from his face and instead returned to his stony, hard expression. The only thing that remained was the movement in his eyes, betraying the emotion attached to his thoughts.

"Yeah," he snorted, fingering his glass. "But some things you just can't reason with."

I cleared my throat, uncomfortable at having made the conversation turn so serious. "So, where are you going tomorrow?"

Dean nodded, and I could sense he was welcome for the change in subject. "Got a job."

I waited a beat, expecting more of an answer but none came. "Well that's vague."

"You don't want to know."

"Try me."

Dean looked like he was about to protest again, but after I gave him my best 'please indulge me' look, he rolled his eyes. "We're going to kill Eve, the Mother of All, aka the Mother of All douchebags who wants to take over the planet. Problem is, not one hundred percent on the 'how' or the 'where' or the 'who'."

"So just a regular Wednesday for you guys, right?" I asked, my voice breathy and climbing in pitch.

"Unfortunately."

It was weird to consider that everything I had learnt about these boys and this world was all fiction in my previous life. Right here, drinking whisky in a dirty old kitchen after being visited by holy assholes and listening to a haunted hero talk about killing one of the most prominent biblical figures, it would seem crazy not to believe him.

"On that delightful note, I'm gonna hit the hay." Dean dumped our empty glasses in the sink and gave me a tight lipped nod as he wandered out the door. I envied him; I hadn't slept at all last night and probably wouldn't again tonight, not after being visited and threatened in my dream.

So I sat there at the table, attempting to sober up and mulling over the conversation in my head. Sam and Dean clearly had a lot on their plates right now, my happily ever after obviously didn't take precedence over the fate of the world. It looked like I would be staying here for a little while longer, and maybe it was the alcohol but for once, that didn't seem too bad. Sure, the angels going after me and the fact that real evil actually existed put a bit of a damper on things but, this was the first adventure I'd been on. Up until now I'd only read about this in books and dreamed of one day being a part of something bigger than myself. Here I was on the sidelines of something huge. Admittedly, the heroes of my books were less rugged, less emotionally stunted and slightly more eloquent, but this was the gritty reality. I could think of a hundred books I could write using this as inspiration.

A smile tugged at my lips as I imagined what kind of character I would make Dean. _An asshole with a troubled past and a penchant for seeking out a troubled future_, I thought. That sounded like him. It wasn't difficult to see the ghosts he hid just beneath the surface, but I wasn't one to pry.

I headed over to the sink and grabbed a glass, filling it with water from the tap. It was cool and refreshing, and as I worked to get the taste of alcohol out of my mouth, I almost didn't hear the footsteps behind me.

"I'm sorry about this," a familiar deep voice made me jump out of my skin, the glass in my hand falling to the table and clattering noisily.

"Castiel!" I exclaimed once I'd turned around and recognised the angel. "Dean and Sam have gone to bed."

Castiel continued to give me his blank stare, unnerving me slightly and making me question my faith in him as an extension of my faith in Sam and Dean. They trusted him, so why shouldn't I?

"I don't have any other options, time is running out," he stated, oblivious to my confusion.

"What-" but I never finished my question. With two long strides, he had reached me, stretching out his hand and placing two long fingers against my forehead. My first reaction was that he was going to read my mind again or something, but within moments I knew it went far beyond that.

The world compressed around me, my sight turned dark and my head felt as though a jackhammer were working away in there. I couldn't feel the rest of my body, but I felt disjointed and twisted, just so unbelievably uncomfortable I couldn't bear it. At the point I thought I would pass out from the pain and discomfort of it all, it stopped.

"This is her?" A British voice asked pleasantly, with mild curiosity.

"Yes."

"Brilliant. You're sure you can't dig around in there for yourself?"

My sight hadn't returned yet but I could feel my body once more, which was a huge relief in and of itself. Someone tugged me forward and I stumbled towards wherever they were leading me. My socks were damp from something wet on the floor and I felt cold, exposed and absolutely terrified. Who were these people? Had Castiel taken me to the angels after all?

A great _whoosh_ of air pushed me backwards and onto something I assumed was a seat. I crawled backwards until I hit the back of the chair, whimpers escaping my throat. My sight was slowly returning, pinpoints of light connecting together until an image formed in my mind. I watched in horror as, as if of their own accord, my arms flew to the arm rests and my legs sat straight on the chair. Restraints appeared and fixed themselves over my limbs.

I was in some form of chamber, with tiled walls and floor, a dreary, moldy place that smelled of decay and fear. Mountains of flesh lay piled atop a table nearby, while grey puddles of mush littered the floor. It looked like a scene out of some cheap 90's horror flick; I wouldn't have believed it was real if it weren't for the smell.

"The memories have faded from her mind, I can't access them." Castiel was still talking to the other figure in the room. They looked like polar opposites of each other; a short man wearing a well-tailored black suit was donning an apron as he smiled at Castiel, who wore his light coloured trench coat once more.

"Hello, darling," the dark haired man greeted me with a greasy smile. "Guess it's my turn to have my way with you."

I came to realize over the past week or so that in situations that involve a great amount of fear, my mouth tends to snap shut and refuse to open. Pleading, talking my way out, negotiating, anything would have been better than the silence that I held onto.

The man walked towards me, and my terror grew exponentially. His hand retrieved a rounded knife with a wicked edge from the table nearby. For a second, my only thought was that it wasn't sanitary, surely he should wash it before attempting to kill me. For once I thanked my mouth for staying shut and not voicing that inane, errant thought.

"What do you know about purgatory?" the man murmured, holding up the knife threateningly.

In the back of my mind, the oddness of the question stuck. But I was too far gone to dwell on it. I wanted to open my mouth, to say something, _anything, _to avoid what his sickening smile promised. However, my mouth stayed resolutely shut.

Well, right up until the knife bit into my skin.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Another cliffy, I know! Hope you liked the chapter, wanted to show the development of Dean and Macy striking a fragile friendship. She's still scared of him and what he's capable of but it's clear that he has good intentions, for the most part. What do you think? **

**And thank you all for the feedback so far, well done with the guessing, but my hypothesis was correct! No one has managed to crack the mystery that is Macy ;) She is not a fallen angel, or a half-angel, so keep speculating if you're game! All will be revealed soon! Make sure to fav/follow and review please! It warms my little heart to hear from you all. **


	5. P1 - CHV: 'Ashen Wings & Broken Things'

**What can I say? Sorry for the ridiculously late update - I've been on holidays for the past few months traveling around Europe, but now I'm back in Australia with my trusty laptop and Aussie coffee :) Uni is going back so I'll have even more motivation to post because I'll use this as procrastination for actual work. Hope you don't all hate me yet, sorry and read on! PS: It's a short chappy for dramatic effect, I swear! We'll be back to normal length in no time.**

_Previously: _

_'__The man walked towards me, and my terror grew exponentially. His hand retrieved a rounded knife with a wicked edge from the table nearby. For a second, my only thought was that it wasn't sanitary, surely he should wash it before attempting to kill me. For once I thanked my mouth for staying shut and not voicing that inane, errant thought. _

_"__What do you know about purgatory?" the man murmured, holding up the knife threateningly. _

_In the back of my mind, the oddness of the question stuck. But I was too far gone to dwell on it. I wanted to open my mouth, to say something, anything, to avoid what his sickening smile promised. However, my mouth stayed resolutely shut. _

_Well, right up until the knife bit into my skin.'_

* * *

><p><span>PART 1 - Chapter V: 'Ashen Wings and Broken Things'<span>

_DEAN POV_

It was almost too much. I'd been through everything the world could possibly have thrown at me, _twice_, but this time it was almost too much. Sam was motionless on the cot in front of me, the erratic rising and falling of his chest the only indication that he was still alive. Cas was MIA and had turned full dark side on us, and there was a ticking time limit until the door to Purgatory was slammed wide open.

If it weren't for Bobby, I'd have laid down with a dozen bottles of whisky and drank myself into oblivion. But the old man wouldn't stand for it.

"Find Cas," I told Bobby. Like I knew what I was doing. I didn't, not by a long shot, but it seemed like the thing to say. If Cas had gotten Sam into this mess, he could get him out. He could spare one goddamn second of his precious angelic time before he ruined everything, and put Sam back together again.

Cas had lied, spied, conspired and tricked us for months. The betrayal was just another twist in the knife that never seemed to leave my back these days. I was running out of people to turn to. If only Sam was awake, he'd have something to say about this whole damn thing. He'd type away at his laptop and come up with some far-fetched scheme that we might have had the luck to pull off – but no. He was stuck in his own noggin, reliving the worst memories his soul had: hell, in the cage with Lucifer and Michael. And I thought _my_ days in hell were bad, I'm sure his would make mine look like a cake walk. Of course, I could only assume because there wasn't a goddamn thing I could do to get in there and help him fight his demons. Not this time.

Bobby left, to who knows where, and the guilt set in. Somehow, I didn't know exactly, but somehow I knew this could have all been prevented. I could have done something differently, said something to Cas to make him change his mind. But now here we were, the world on the chopping block again.

To top it all off, Macy was missing. I was ashamed to admit, but she hadn't crossed my mind much over the past few days what with everything going on. But I reminded myself that she was the reason we were going through all this: humanity. Freedom. The regular people out there who deserved life. But I couldn't even save her. Somehow an angel had gotten to her, she was probably dead by now and that just piled the guilt on even thicker. She was nice, I admitted. So… normal, to the point of innocence. I felt bad for having locked her in the panic room for so long, but she'd been a threat at the time. Of course, somehow she'd forgiven me, hell, she even patched Bobby and I up. How was it that I was the only person who saw that I didn't deserve to be forgiven?

I sat down heavily on the seat behind Sam, my eyes not leaving his still form. The whisky on the table invited me to drink, so I gave in, welcoming the stinging flavor.

"Look what the cat dragged in," Bobby's voice called as he returned.

"At least you mutt fish finally got the angel proofing right," Balthazar greeted from beyond the threshold, gazing about the room decorated with white symbols.

_If only it had worked for Macy,_ I thought before I could stop myself.

"How's sleeping beauty? You didn't steal any kisses, I trust."

The smarmy asshole was making jokes during D-day. I wanted to punch his lights out. Instead, I asked, "What the hell took you so long?"

"Honestly? Balthazar replied, eyeing me up and down as I walked towards him. "I was having second thoughts."

"About?"

"About whether to help you. I was thinking maybe," a pause, "maybe I should rip out your sticky bits instead."

His unexpected threat made me waver. "And what did you decide?" Bobby prompted after my silence.

"Well," he handed me a note, which I took cautiously. "Cas and Crowley are there. That's where the show gets started. Your friend Macy is there, too, having a lovely chat with Crowley I'm assuming."

"Why? What could they want with her?" Bobby asked, taking the unexpected news of Macy in stride.

Balthazar's eye twinkled. "She's not who she seems. But then again, not even _she_ knows who she is, or was, depending on how you look at it."

I'd had enough with the riddles at that point. "Give me a straight answer, for once in your life."

Balthazar rolled his eyes. "Don't get your panties in a twist. I'm assuming they've collected her because of her past. She used to have almost unfiltered contact with angels a long time ago, it's safe to assume she'd know some juicy gossip about Raphael and the other angels, not to mention how to get in to Purgatory." Balthazar seemed to deliberate something. "Come to think of it, now that they know how to get in thanks to _your_ purgatory friend," he winked at Bobby, "Macy's probably outrunning her usefulness."

I handed the note to Bobby. Contact with angels? This whole time I'd been under the impression that out of all of us, Macy was the fish out water, the innocent bystander who'd gotten mixed into the fray and made a victim. Balthazar could be lying, of course, but what would that get him? Regardless, she didn't deserve the torture Crowley would no doubt be putting her through, no one did. "Not if we can get to them first. We can stop this whole mess, fix Sam and save her. Give us a minute to pack up and then zap us there." The idea of zapping anywhere was unappealing, but it was the fastest way.

"Oh no, no, no,"

I couldn't believe he was backing out at this point. He was going to dangle the way out in front of us and bail at the last minute. "Balthazar-" I warned, but was interrupted.

"I'm betraying a friend, here." He said seriously, his voice shifting from comedic to grave in a split second. I shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "A very powerful friend. We all are. So I think I've stuck my neck out far enough already. Good luck." He nodded. "You may want to scurry along now, saving Macy's life is in the best interest for all of us. She's got a part to play, just like the rest of us." There was a wistful tone to his voice, uncommon for what I'd come to know Balthazar for. His eyes flashed with a hidden emotion, too quick for me to catch, before he turned on his heel to leave.

"Balthazar, wait-" I managed to stall his exit for a moment longer, the panic in my voice no doubt obvious to the angel. I tried quelling it with my next words. "Who is she? Why is she so important?"

Balthazar's shoulders slumped slightly and he sighed, turning his head to the side so that his face was in profile, the light from the bulb ahead of him putting his head in sharp relief. For once, he actually looked like an angel, a halo of golden glow around his hair. "There's a lot you don't know, about humans, the nature of a soul…" Balthazar paused. "It's a fickle thing, always clinging to its host until the very last moment. Almost as though life _here_, on earth, in the trenches of existence down in the mud and grit, with all these… _messy _emotions and dreams, hopes, fears… as though life here is greater than an eternity in heaven."

I wasn't sure what the hell he was going on about, it sounded too Dr. Phil for my taste, but Balthazar had an air of severity to him that had me on edge.

"Of course most souls don't get a chance to stay, they all have to go at some point…" he gave a short bark of unamused laughter, "But the soul can be tweaked. Not easily, but it's possible."

"What's your point?" I reminded him harshly. "We're kind of on a schedule here."

Balthazar turned to me, a contemplative look upon his face. "You've heard of Macy before you met, though she went by a different name in her past life. In fact, in her earliest incarnation she's in one of the most famous books in history. Your people call it, _The Bible_." He rolled his eyes. "Not hard to see why she might have just a _little_ bit of knowledge on ancient religious lore, no?"

It was hard to take in such ridiculous information, but at the same time it was easy to accept. I mean, nothing about this entire situation was anywhere near normal. But that didn't stop the confusion from being the dominant emotion I felt.

Balthazar continued. "I suppose that's what this all about, isn't it? Souls. Humanity. You want to save them, Cas wants to harness them, Crowley wants to control them. Poor Sam here just wants to _survive_ his soul." He sighed, for once looking his age rather than the impish man he always appeared. "What I did to Macy was cruel… no soul should go through so much without relief. They aren't something that you can just play with!" His voice rose to a shout. His eyes turned to me, blazing in ferocity and burning into mine. "You have to stop Castiel and Crowley from ruining the only pure things left in this literally God-forsaken universe."

Before I had a chance to respond, hell before I even had a chance to _understand_, Balthazar had winged his ass out of dodge. He left me with a whole heap of new questions, and no shovel to sort through them with.

As I left Bobby's house that night, sitting in the front seat of my baby, my mind was full of doubt. Most of the time, driving guns blazing into a situation I felt fear, but I always felt comfortable, hell I'd done it often enough that it was almost routine. Not this time: it was wrong, different. Sam wasn't with me, and I couldn't do anything about that. So I put his needs aside for once and hoped to God that Cas would snap out of whatever stupid delusion he was under to realise that he was destroying everything and everyone. Leaving Sammy behind with only that small hope to cling to, that maybe Cas would put him back together, I'd never felt so unsure.

* * *

><p><strong>Well there you have it, really getting into the gritty stuff now! We're half way through part 1, what do you all think? Leave me a review to let me know what you likedon't like, or yell at me for posting so late! (I certainly deserve it)  
><strong>


End file.
